Explosion
by b7-kerravon
Summary: Zelenka, McKay,and an unknown Ancient device add Carson Beckett and you've got trouble. COMPLETE
1. The Ancient Device

Sorry it's been so long since my last story, but I've had to deal with 'Real Life"! Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue. Just someone anxiously waiting for Season 2, and entertaining herself in the meantime…

**Explosion**

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 1 - The Ancient Device

"Hello……" Dr. Rodney McKay commented under his breath as his probe triggered a previously unseen latch. He had been huddled over the Ancient device for the last four hours without a break, trying to determine its exact function. It was square, approximately three feet to a side, and after ten millennia still had power. Stackhouse's team had found it on their exploration of an apparently deserted planet and had assumed that anything still emitting an EM field after all that time must be important. With Weir's permission they hauled it back for the scientists to study.

Rodney had been working on it since its arrival on Atlantis. While he would never admit it out loud, he agreed with the Sergeant; the Ancients never did anything without a reason, and if they felt that something needed to be powered for thousands of years, it must be important. It only took half a day of frustration before he invited Zelenka to come and play as well.

He liked working with the Czech scientist whose name he often could not remember; the man was intelligent, quick-witted, unfailingly polite, and invariably acceded to Rodney's whims. Oh, he might argue for a bit, but ultimately he gave in. McKay even enjoyed the verbal sparring, for usually new, creative ideas would emerge. Not to mention the fact that the man had saved his life once, when they were stuck in the Stargate.

The scientist in question now moved to his shoulder from where he had been working on the far side of the box. "What have you found?" he asked, stretching the kinks out of his neck and running a hand through his chronically disarrayed hair.

"I don't know. It appears to be a small chamber, but nothing's inside." McKay began to reach into the small cubicle for a better evaluation, when Zelenka's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Wait a moment. There could perhaps be boobytraps. You might get hurt if you are not careful." Zelenka shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "After your argument at breakfast, I would not like to be in your shoes if you required Doctor Beckett's assistance." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Rodney was about to say something acerbic, but then looked up in surprise as he pulled his hand away from the opening. He asked curiously, "Why?"

Zelenka studiously avoided McKay's direct gaze. "I think that calling the Chief Medical Officer a 'rattle-shaking witch doctor' was…imprudent…for someone who is under his care as often as you are."

McKay remembered the discussion clearly; of course, with his photographic memory, how could he not? He and Zelenka had met to discuss their plan of action with the recalcitrant artifact in a more civilized setting, namely, over breakfast and coffee. They were deeply embroiled in conversation when Beckett had plopped down next to them and, without so much as a 'By your leave', began interjecting his own uninformed opinions.

_"Excuse me, but Zelenka and I were having a private discussion." McKay turned an indignant eye on the intruder._

_"Aye, but an intelligent scientific opinion from an objective third party…"_

_McKay rolled his eyes. "Oh come on. Like I've said before, 'Modern' medicine is about as scientific as voodoo. Despite being the Chief Medical Officer on Atlantis, you can hardly claim more expertise than a rattle-shaking witch doctor."_

The conversation had deteriorated from there, ultimately resulting in Beckett leaving in a huff.

McKay considered for a moment, then waved a hand dismissively as he returned to study the artifact and reached inside. "Nah, he won't hold a grudge; it's against the Hippocratic Oath or something."

A throat suddenly cleared behind them. "Actually, it's not. You're just lucky I _don't_ hold grudges." Dr. Beckett was standing in the doorway behind the two scientists, arms folded and a self-satisfied look on his face.

"Carson!" McKay whirled, startled, at the unexpected interruption, and in the process managed to cut the back of his hand on a sharp edge inside the machine they had been studying. "Yow!" His eyes scrunched closed in pain as he clutched his right hand to his chest.

Dr. Beckett was at his side in a flash, all traces of the smug expression gone. "Here, let me see that." He gently pried at the covering hand in order to examine the injury. McKay jerked his hand away, fire in his eyes.

"No, thank you, I'll deal with this myself." Rodney was furious, more at his own clumsiness than anything else, but snapped irrationally at the physician.

"Don't be daft, man. You could have a severed a tendon." He held his own hand out in supplication, "Let me see it Rodney. Please."

McKay's eyes widened. "You really think I've damaged a tendon?" He slowly unclenched his hand and held it out. Beckett carefully investigated the laceration, turning Rodney's hand over in his own and examining it minutely.

"Ach, you got lucky." Beckett finally concluded. "It's just a wee scrape."

Rodney jerked his hand back and cradled it protectively. "Well, it may be small to you…"

"Uh, fellows?" Zelenka interrupted, staring at the previously-forgotten device in concern. "Is this supposed to be flashing?" He pointed at a small light blinking in the hidden recess.

Rodney bent down, brows wrinkled in concern. "I must have triggered something when I jerked…" His eyes widened as he spotted a changing display. "Oh, this isn't good." His mind reached an unwelcome conclusion. "Get back, get down!" he cried as he dived beneath a nearby table.

Zelenka, long accustomed to McKay's abrupt commands, knew that the safest thing to do was to act first, question later. As he hit the floor next to Rodney, he glanced back at the blinking device, only to see, to his horror, that Beckett was still standing there staring at them as if they had lost their minds.

McKay turned to see what the Czech was staring at. "Get _down,_ you fool!" he hissed.

Beckett smiled, bemused. "What in the name of heaven are you two…"

Rodney didn't wait for the physician to finish the question. Lunging from his relatively protected locale, he unceremoniously tackled the doctor at the knees just as the Ancient device explosively disintegrated into a million fragmented projectiles. He could feel the sharp needles slicing though the back of his workshirt as the blast drove him forcefully to the ground. Releasing the physician and throwing up his arms, he covered his head protectively until the blast was over.

He lay still, running through a mental checklist and concluding that all his body parts were present and accounted for. As the ringing in his ears subsided, he began to make out Zelenka's frantic cries of "McKay… Beckett!" repeated over and over.

Groaning, he cautiously raised his head. "Yeah…right here." As he began to sit up, he glanced irritatedly over at Beckett. "Carson, the next time I tell you to….Carson?" His voice dropped from angry to tentative in a nanosecond. The doctor wasn't moving.

TBC

Author's note: OK, I'm not happy with the title of the story, so I'm taking suggestions, no matter how inane. Let me know how you like the first chapter, too!


	2. Aftermath

AN: Appreciate all the feedback; it's certainly encouraging. I couldn't believe how fast the Yahoo H/C list discovered my post and linked to it (Thanks again, Elyse)! So far, I think I'm keeping my original title...

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue. Just someone anxiously waiting for Season 2, and entertaining herself in the meantime!

**Explosion **

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 2 - Aftermath

The room was a disaster, and Zelenka stared about in dismay. Flying bits of metal of varying sizes had cut through or exploded against almost every item in the lab. Chairs were indistinguishable piles of wood and plastic; metal workbenches were twisted into surreal pretzels; nothing glass was even vaguely intact, much less recognizable. Most of the heavier equipment had been hurled against the walls by the blast and shattered, and several of the roof-supports had been jarred loose to lie at irregular angles. One of the few distinguishable items in the room was the heavy table beneath which Zelenka himself had taken refuge. His attention focussed on the two unprotected men lying on the floor in front of him. Rodney had clambered to his knees beside Carson, who hadn't yet shown signs of life. Blood was beginning to soak through the back of McKay's shirt where the shrapnel had struck, but the Canadian didn't seem to notice; he was crouched over Carson's body, desperately feeling for a pulse. Zelenka held his breath, praying that McKay's tackle had been in time.

"Zelenka, get over here!" Panic edged McKay's voice as he tried to remember where the carotid artery lived. He stared at Beckett's still form. _'He can't be dead. Please, God, don't let him be dead.'_ The Chief Medical Officer lay supine, left arm draped over his chest, right arm akimbo at an unnatural angle that screamed of a fracture. Blood was pouring from a jagged, stellate laceration over his left eyebrow and pooling on the decking beneath his head. Apparently a larger piece of shrapnel had managed to impact the physician's skull even as Rodney had dragged him to the ground. Several other cuts peppered the doctor's face and upper body, but they oozed blood only sluggishly. _'Wait. Dead men don't bleed! He must still be alive.'_ The realization almost made him giddy with relief, and he sagged slightly as the edge wore off. He still couldn't tear his eyes away from Beckett's silent form.

"I guess the device was a bomb." Zelenka's voice in his ear startled McKay out of his stunned inspection of their downed comrade.

He turned a disbelieving eye towards the Czech scientist, and sarcastically asked, "Oh, _really_? What was your first clue?" Still, the comment got him moving, and that was a _good_ thing. "Help me find something to put on this." He gestured towards the bleeding face wound.

"Like what?"

Frustrated, Rodney reached over and grabbed the bottom of Zelenka's shirt, ripping off a three-inch swath of material. "Like _this_," he snarled, then turned to apply pressure to the injury.

"Hey, that was a good shirt!" Zelenka was momentarily outraged.

"Yeah, well he needs it more than you do right now."

Zelenka calmed down, nodding shamefaced. "You are right, of course. I will get help." He tapped his microphone. "Medlab, this is Doctor Zelenka. We need a team in Science Lab 4; there's been an accident." When no reply was forthcoming, he continued, "Medlab, do you read me?"

"Yours must have broken during the explosion. Here, hold this and I'll try my com unit." McKay shifted so that the uninjured man could take his place stanching the bleeding, then reached up to find his earpiece gone. Glancing wildly about, he spotted it protruding from a pile of debris. He snatched it eagerly, only to become frustrated when he found _his_ communicator broken into three separate pieces.

"That worked well." Zelenka raised an eyebrow.

Rodney shot him a glance that would melt titanium, then attempted to stand. "I'll just use the wall unit…" He swayed as black spots temporarily obscured his vision, and held his arms out to keep his suddenly-precarious balance. "Woah." He blinked unsteadily, uncertain as to his next course of action.

The slight frame of the Czech scientist was suddenly at his side, easing him back to a sitting position on the floor. "Stay here. I will see if the wall unit still works." Rodney felt the cloth being pressed back into his hand, then his hand being returned to Beckett's forehead. The whole scene had assumed a dream-like quality, as if he were watching it happen to someone else. He concentrated on keeping pressure on the wound, and was gratified to note that the bleeding had slowed considerably. Still disoriented, he vaguely registered Zelenka's voice talking to someone on the intercom. From the irritation present in his colleague's voice, he was having trouble making himself understood.

"Yes, yes, _yes_. I will repeat again, slooowwwly. There has been an explosion. Beckett and McKay are both badly injured. We need a medical team to come to Science Lab 4. NOW. _Capich?_"

Rodney suppressed a sudden urge to giggle; he was sure that Italian wasn't a normal tongue in the Czech Republic. That worried him. He _never_ giggled. What had Zelenka said about injuries?

"No, you _can't_ talk to Beckett; he's UN-CON-SCIOUS." The angry scientist managed to put equal stress on every syllable. "You claim to be a doctor, yet do not know that unconscious people _do not speak_?" He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the wall, and took a deep breath. "Just come. I've got to return to the others." He flipped the toggle, then stood silently in that position for a moment to regain his composure. Next, he plastered on a patently-fake smile and turned to find McKay eyeing him warily.

"What's wrong with me?" Rodney was suspicious. Despite the fact that Zelenka had proclaimed him injured, he felt OK. Well, maybe a little lightheaded…and sweaty. He could feel the warm droplets trickling sporadically down his spine. Still, Carson was clearly much worse; he was out like a light.

His friend squatted beside him, so he wouldn't have to look up. "Rodney, have you noticed that all of Carson's injuries are on his upper body?"

McKay searched his mind. Yes, he _had _noticed that at some point, but attributed it to good luck coupled with his timely tackle; if Beckett hadn't been halfway to the floor when that fragment struck his skull, it would have impacted on something much lower and softer, like his chest or abdomen. He shuddered slightly at the thought. A gentle hand shaking his shoulder brought his wandering mind back to the question. "Rodney? Are you still with me?"

McKay blinked several times, then focussed. "Yes…yes, I noticed. If I had been just a second sooner, he might not have been injured at all."

"No Rodney. Even on the floor he was still in the blast radius."

McKay felt as if he were thinking through pudding. "Then why isn't…" he began. The light dawned, and Rodney suddenly realized why the doctor's lower body had been spared; he had inadvertently protected it with his own. As if in response to the abrupt awareness, the lacerations on his own back began to throb unmercifully. _'That's not sweat running down my back; it's blood.'_ He suddenly felt slightly queasy. In a small voice he asked, "How bad is it?"

Zelenka glanced at the blood-soaked shirt and shrugged. "Bad enough. I'd like to see you in Medlab in a bed next to Beckett." His smile became more genuine. "Still, I think you'll live." He took the cloth on Beckett's wound from Rodney's suddenly-nerveless fingers, and carefully lifted it to examine the wound underneath. Sighing in relief, he commented, "Good job, Rodney. It's stopped bleeding."

A sudden pounding on the door caused them both to jump. "Zelenka!" came the muffled cry. "Can you hear me? Open the door!" Concerned brown eyes met slightly-glazed blue in a moment of consternation, then the Czech leapt for the portal. To his utter dismay, the hatch remained closed despite activating the controls.

"It won't open from this side either." He cupped his hand to his mouth to try to project his voice through he metal bulkhead. "I can't make it move. It must have been damaged by the blast!"

Some vehement cursing could be heard faintly in the hall, and the next voice was recognizably Major Sheppard's. "Is there any debris blocking it?"

'_Like I wouldn't have thought to move debris.'_ Zelenka would have been insulted if he weren't so concerned. "No, Major. It's clear. It must be the controls themselves."

"He can be dense, can't he?" McKay commented conversationally. It was Zelenka's turn to shoot a withering glare as he pressed his ear against the door. He could hear more cursing, followed by sharp orders, but none quite discernable.

Eventually, Sheppard's voice came again. "Don't worry, doc. We're rounding up some equipment. We'll have you sprung in no time."

Zelenka shrugged, then turned back to where Rodney sat. Narrowing his eyes, he considered, "I'd better do some first aid; this might take a while."

TBC…

Author's note: Well, not too evil a cliffie that time….just wait until the next chapter! (I like H/C, and I like chapters that practically say 'insert commercial here' - LOL) Don't forget to review!


	3. A Slight Delay

AN: For those anxious people asking for Chp 3 - Here you go!

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue. Just someone anxiously waiting for Season 2!

**Explosion **

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 3 - A Slight Delay

By the time Zelenka had scrounged up both clean rags and clean water, Beckett was beginning to stir. The Czech carefully set down his supplies and knelt next to McKay, who was gently holding down Beckett's shoulders as he began to thrash and moan.

"Carson, can you hear me? There's been an accident. I need you to keep still." Rodney repeated this over and over, in a calm, low-pitched voice that Zelenka was unused to hearing.

After a few minutes, the physician settled down and Rodney released his grip. The moaning progressed to incoherent mumbling, signaling a slow increase in awareness.

"It's all right, Carson. They're going to get us out of here." Zelenka added his own brand of reassurance. "You'll be in Medlab before you know it."

Beckett's eyelids fluttered, and he slowly squinted them open. Glancing from one scientist to the other, he muttered, "Bloody Hell! Not again. I swear I've gotten more concussions in the last three months than any one person should be allowed for a lifetime. That's it. I'm convinced. This bloody base actually HATES me." His eyes widened. "That's the only thing it could be. _Atlantis_ is trying to put me into a coma." He tried to sit up, only to be halted by both McKay and Zelenka pushing him back down. In the process, his right arm jarred slightly. Carson's face went white at the sudden influx of pain, and he let the scientists ease him to the deck.

Gulping twice before finding his voice, the physician squeaked, "Bloody…I've broken my arm, haven't I? What the hell happened? Why aren't we in Medlab? What's going on?" By the conclusion of the diatribe, his voice had returned full force. Nevertheless, he studiously avoided moving his right arm even an inch.

It wasn't often McKay felt obliged to be tolerant, but something told him that he needed to now. He tried his best, but the throbbing from his back was distracting. "Carson, if you will just shut up for a minute, I'll explain."

"Take off your shirt first." Zelenka interjected softly.

Rodney turned to stare at this apparent non sequitur, only to be greeted by a raised eyebrow, rolled-up sleeves, and hands holding a dripping washcloth. Realization dawned. "Oh." At Zelenka's nod, he continued tentatively, so as not to alarm Beckett, "Is it really necessary?" Zelenka nodded again. Paling, McKay jerked his head towards his back, and suggested, "Maybe you could just lift it?"

Zelenka nodded a third time. The two scientists were in complete understanding; while Rodney was injured, Beckett was worse. However, if the physician realized the extent of McKay's wounds, he would kill himself trying to tend them. Therefore, Zelenka would clean up Rodney's back while McKay distracted the doctor by going over their situation. Hopefully, by the time Carson was satisfied, the only person left to treat would be _him_.

As if reading their minds, Beckett piped up. "Rodney, what's going on _now_?" He began to make abortive movements to try to sit up again which were brought to an abrupt halt by waves of pain emanating from his arm. He closed his eyes and settled back to the floor, thereby missing the wince that flitted across McKay's face as Zelenka peeled the shredded shirt away from his cuts. By the time Beckett's eyes reopened, Rodney had once again controlled his features, sporting a weak but sardonic grin.

"Well, now, where to start?" He tried valiantly to ignore the sting of the cold water on his already-reddening wounds. Irritation surfaced, and he held up an index finger. "Oh, right. How about starting with, 'The next time I tell you to duck, you'd better do it'? Is that a good place to begin?" He let his anger swell, drowning out the whimper of anguish he could feel building in the back of his throat as Zelenka gingerly continued cleaning bits of cloth and dirt from the lacerations. "Perhaps in the future you will show half the intelligence that God gave a kumquat, and _duck first, ask questions later_; rather than stand around like an idiot figuring out the 'whys' and 'wherefores'."

At Carson's look of confusion, he took a deep breath. "You came to our lab and startled me while I was deciphering an Ancient device, resulting in my triggering a countdown. Now, as I have rarely seen a countdown lead to anything good, I surmised that the oncoming event was likely to be _bad_, so yelled for everyone to take cover. Zelenka did, and, as you see, is relatively unharmed." He glanced over his shoulder at his fellow scientist, who waved jauntily before returning to his work. "You, however, stood there staring at us like we were escapees from Arkham. When it became clear that you had no intention of seeking shelter until it was too late, I took matters into my own hands…or your knees, depending on how you look at it. We hit the deck just as the bomb exploded; you landed relatively awkwardly due to the fact that you had already been knocked out by a rather large piece of shrapnel, and managed to break your arm in the process." He couldn't quite contain a hiss as his friend extricated a particularly deeply-imbedded piece of debris. Biting his lip and returning to topic before Beckett could ask, he continued, "As you see, the lab has been pretty much decimated, including both our com-links and the controls that open the hatch. Fortunately, the wall intercom still functions, and help is on the way. They may have to cut through the door, but they'll get here." He spoke with the utmost assurance that came from working with John Sheppard; if there was a way to do it, the Major would find it.

Zelenka had finished cleaning the lacerations, and was taping down a makeshift bandage with some scotch tape that he had located behind a desk. He gently touched McKay's shoulder, "It's done."

Rodney rolled his eyes in relief. "Thank God." The sweat stood out on his forehead, glistening in the artificial light, and he felt faint. Fortunately Beckett, one eye almost completely swollen shut from the laceration and associated contusion, was unable to make out many visual details, so didn't appear to notice.

With Zelenka's supporting hand on his shoulder, McKay collected himself and addressed the supine physician. "Now, if the explanations are taken care of, I think it's time to set that arm of yours."

Beckett closed his eyes resignedly. "I know. Mah hand's numb, so there's probably a kinked artery. We need to straighten it to reestablish blood flow."

McKay exchanged a quick, worried glance with Zelenka, then addressed the doctor. "Tell us what to do."

Taking a deep breath, Carson nodded fractionally. "First, find a couple of straight rods, then some rope or string to tie them in place."

"I'll do it." Zelenka stood up quickly and started rooting about the debris. Just then the intercom spoke, in Dr. Weir's voice.

"Doctor Zelenka, how is everyone doing?"

Zelenka went over to the speaker. "Rodney and I are getting ready to splint Dr. Beckett's arm; it's broken."

"Major Sheppard and an engineering crew are outside the door right now. They have a blowtorch and are going to try to cut their way in to you."

"How long will it take?"

He could hear Weir take a breath. "We're not sure. But the Major asked me to caution you all to stay away from the door."

"We will be happy to."

"We'll see you soon, then. Weir out."

Zelenka went back to the other men. "They are going to try to cut us out with a blowtorch."

McKay rolled his eyes in disgust. "That'll take forever, if it can be done at all."

Zelenka raised an eyebrow, and matter-of-factly replied, "Then I'd better find those splints."

TBC…


	4. Just a Little Nap

AN: For all those early risers; wakey, wakey! Here's Chapter 4...

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue. Just start Season 2 already!

**Explosion**

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 4- Just a Little Nap

By the time he had cobbled together the materials for setting Beckett's arm, Zelenka could hear the activity on the far side of the hatch. Widely skirting it, he hurried back to the others. Rodney had leaned up against the remnants of what was once a table, and dozed off. His slow, regular breathing was a sharp contrast to Beckett's pain-hitched inhalations as he tried to find a comfortable position for his arm. Zelenka knelt next to the doctor, speaking quietly so as not to disturb McKay. "I have the materials you asked for; what do I do now?"

Carson opened his good eye and gave a weak, wry smile. "Ah don' suppose you happened across any brandy in your explorations?"

Zelenka smiled at the attempted humor and shook his head. "No, I am afraid not."

Beckett sighed dramatically. "There's nothin' for it, then. We'll just have to do without." Suddenly serious, he jerked his chin towards the astrophysicist. "How's Rodney doing?"

Zelenka glanced back. "He is resting. I would like to do this without disturbing him, if possible."

Carson flipped into 'physician-mode'. "What happened to him? I saw you cleaning and bandaging his back earlier, but he was trying so hard to distract me that I pretended not to notice."

Zelenka stammered for a moment, then decided that honesty was the best policy. "When he knocked you out of the path of the main blast, he managed to receive a number of cuts from flying metal himself. Still, you are clearly the more injured, so he didn't want to worry you."

The doctor's mouth drew into a thin, grim line, and he began to curse under his breath. "That idiot. To make such a fuss over a little scrape earlier, then to 'not bother' me with lacerations severe enough to make him hypotensive! I'll be the judge of who has _severe_ injuries, thank you very much." He started to sit up, but collapsed abruptly as his arm reminded him of its predicament. Chagrined, he closed his eye. "Still, I can't even move until we take care of this arm."

"What do I do? Should I wake Rodney?"

Beckett's eye cracked open again. "_Please_ don't. I saw the bandage he put on his _own_ arm after the Genii left!" He smiled at the Czech reassuringly. "Don't worry, lad. Ye'll do fine." He shrugged fatalistically. "You certainly canna do worse. Now, help me brace myself…"

Once the two men were in position, Beckett squinted both eyes shut and nodded jerkily. Zelenka gave a rapid, firm yank on the doctor's wrist, and was rewarded with a palpable 'pop' as the bones slid into position. Carson gasped and bit his lower lip, but managed not to cry out. Zelenka had the arm splinted in no time, and Beckett finally relaxed. After a few moments, he experimentally wiggled his fingers.

"That feels right. Do me a favor, lad. Do you know how to palpate a radial pulse, then?"

Zelenka nodded. "Yes, yes I think so."

"Well then, check the pulse on that arm; make sure it's there."

Zelenka did as requested, fumbling for a few moments until his face brightened in delight. "I've got it. And it's strong."

Beckett sighed. "Good lad. Now, help me sit up so I can examine Rodney."

The engineer was more dubious about this request. "I don't know. I have cleaned his wounds as well as possible given the conditions, and he is still resting. I would prefer to clean _your_ cuts now, if you don't mind."

Carson sighed, but relented to the logic of the request. "Aye, you're right. Go on then; I'll be good."

It took much less time for Zelenka to clean the physician's injuries than it had Rodney's, mostly because he wasn't trying to be covert. The hardest was the forehead laceration; it kept rebleeding every time he disturbed it.

"Never mind that for now; I'm certain that Dr. Lawrence will want to clean it out before he closes it anyway. Why don't you just bandage it, then go see how they're coming on the door?" Carson's soft brogue was full of reassurance.

"Yes, certainly." As he hastily applied the clean cloth and tape, Beckett's eyes slid shut as he joined Rodney in a quiet nap.

Again skirting the door, he tiredly headed towards the intercom. "Dr. Weir? Could you let me know how it's coming?" he asked as he rubbed his forehead. An ache had been building behind his temples for some time.

Weir's reply was gratifyingly swift. "Dr. Zelenka, I was just about to call you. It seems that the oxy-acetylene torch is ineffective against the Ancient alloy. We're trying to come up with other ideas. Do you or Dr. McKay have any suggestions?"

Zelenka closed his eyes resignedly, the day's events catching up with him. "No, I do not, and McKay and Beckett are both asleep. Could I please speak to someone from Medlab?"

Weir's concern radiated in her voice, "What's wrong? Have they gotten worse?"

"I do not think so, but I would feel better if I spoke to a doctor of medicine."

"Understood. I'll get Dr. Lawrence on the line."

Zelenka leaned his head against the wall as he waited. He had met Dr. Lawrence once before; a slightly stocky American Army surgeon of what appeared to be Pacific Island descent with a pleasant smile and ready wit. Within moments a cheerful male voice projected from the speaker, and the Czech returned his attention to the intercom.

"Hello, Dr. Zelenka. This is Derek Lawrence. I understand you're practicing medicine without a license." The voice chuckled, amused at its own joke.

Zelenka was not. "I would greatly prefer that you were, but we do not always get our wishes."

The voice took on a serious tone. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

The engineer sighed. _Recount the story one more time_. "There has been an explosion. Doctors Beckett and McKay were struck by multiple pieces of the bomb. I have cleaned the wounds as best I can, but I have only water to work with. Additionally, Doctor Beckett has a broken arm and was unconscious for a while, but he seemed appropriate when he woke up. I have set his arm, and both he and Rodney are resting right now." He muttered, almost inaudibly, "I wish I were, too."

Dr. Lawrence sounded approving. "You've done a great job under trying circumstances. Was McKay knocked out as well?"

"No, but he lost a lot of blood from the cuts on his back."

"So that's why he's sleeping? What about you?"

Zelenka startled, eyes popping open. "Me? I was not injured."

A pause on the other end, then Lawrence commented, "Yet you sound exhausted…"

Zelenka scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "It's just the stress. I'll be fine once a rescue team can reach us."

The engineer could practically hear the surgeon's lips tighten, but his reply indicated that he was willing to drop it for the time being. "All right, I'll take your word on that. But all _three_ of you are coming to Medlab to get checked out once we reach you." His tone brooked no argument. "All you need to do for now is wake Dr. Beckett up every half hour or so, and notify me if he won't wake up or seems disoriented."

"Will do." Zelenka thumbed the intercom off, then turned around to lean his back against the bulkhead. Closing his eyes, he slowly slid down the wall until he found himself sitting on the floor. Lacking the energy to move, he decided that he would just rest his eyes for a moment before he went over to check on Carson.

TBC…

Author's Note: I figure if Atlantis can have a Pathologist and a Psychologist, they MUST have a Surgeon! So much for Carson being the only physician on base; he must _just_ be the Chief Medical Officer.


	5. We Have a Problem

Author's note: Well, the last chapter wasn't too exciting; let's see if we can liven things up, hmmmm…?

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, please don't sue.

**Explosion **

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 5 - We Have a Problem

"I tell you, I don't like it." The dark-haired surgeon's eyes flashed unhappiness as he politely addressed Weir. "Zelenka wasn't even injured, and he was practically asleep on his feet. Something else is going on."

Weir was questioning. "You don't think it's stress."

Dr. Johnson spoke up. "No, Doctor Lawrence is right. I've worked with Dr. Zelenka on several projects, and he's the only person I know who can give Dr. McKay a run for his money when it comes to sheer ability to stay awake, for days if need be." Her fingers danced over the keyboard of her laptop. "Let me just run an analysis…"

As the results scrolled up, Kavanagh hovered over her shoulder. Jabbing his finger at one number, he blurted, "There! Cone in on that one." Nodding, the acerbic Johnson ignored how much she despised "Mr. Pony-tail" and followed his lead. Within moments, the detailed breakdown popped up. "That can't be right…"

Shoving her unceremoniously away from her own computer, Kavanagh began typing furiously.

"What is it?" Weir asked. "What's wrong?"

When it became obvious that Kavanagh wasn't going to reply, Johnson shot him a glare and answered, "It appears we were wrong about our original hypothesis; the door hasn't been damaged - it's been _sealed_. Atlantis detected the explosion and sealed off the room."

"Sounds reasonable. Then we just need the override codes." Weir studied Kavanagh's intense tapping with growing concern. "There's something else, isn't there?"

Dr. Lawrence looked at the despair in Johnson's face, and gently asked, "Why did Atlantis seal the room? The explosion was over."

"Because the fragments of the device seem to be emitting some sort of gas."

"The Ancients were certainly…thorough." The corner of Derek's mouth quirked up. "I suspect the explosion was just a method of disseminating the gas-producing debris."

"So, do we have any idea of its effects?"

"It certainly causes drowsiness; I'd guess that, since it's a weapon, it would ultimately result in death."

Elizabeth hit the intercom. "Dr. Zelenka, can you hear me?" When no one answered, she tried again. "Dr. Zelenka, please respond." She met Lawrence's eyes solemnly and shook her head.

"It's likely to work faster on people with lower blood oxygen carrying capacity, like someone who is anemic…or has lost a lot of blood."

Their eyes locked. "Carson and Rodney," Weir concluded.

"Yes. Like Carson and Rodney." Lawrence agreed. "Doctor Weir, we have to get them out of there, _now_."

Keying her headset, Elizabeth called Major Sheppard. "Major, the situation has gotten worse. Our three men are being poisoned by some type of gas; if we don't get them out soon…there won't be any reason to rush."

"Yes, Ma'am," came the reply. "We're on it."

Turning to Kavanagh, Weir ordered, "Keep looking for that override code."

"I'd better get down to my team," Lawrence suggested. "Could you have someone from Medlab bring down at least six oxygen canisters with non-rebreathers? And let Major Sheppard know I'm on my way."

"Will do, Doctor."

-

Sheppard turned to where the plasma torch was almost set up. _'This baby makes that oxy-acetylene torch look like blunt-tipped kindergarten scissors.' _"Change of plans. Simpson, cone the beam down to a two-inch square. Ford," the Major looked him square in the eye, "Go get the C4."

By the time the Lieutenant returned with the explosives, a small hole had been created approximately ¾ through the blast door.

"All right, that should do it! Turn it off and get out of range." The soldiers hurried to comply, dragging the plasma torch out of harm's way as well. The medical rescue team looked uncertainly at Sheppard, who nodded. "You, too. I want everyone at least a hundred yards away behind at _least_ one corner. We'll let you know when we've got the room open." The medtechs nodded gratefully and moved back.

Sheppard turned to Ford, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Stuff that hole and let's join them."

"How long?" Ford asked, indicating the timer.

"Three minutes should do."

Ford nodded and went to work. After a few moments of intense work, the lieutenant straightened and nodded.

"No, Major, wait!"

Sheppard turned to see Lawrence rushing towards them, lugging oxygen canisters that he'd snagged from the medtechs, one under each arm. "No can do, doc; timer's set!" Grabbing the surgeon's shoulders, he spun him back the way he came. The three men barely made the protection of the nearest wall before the C4 blew with a satisfying roar. Bits of what had been blast door clattered past their position.

Sheppard turned a disbelieving gaze on Ford. "I said _three_ minutes!"

Aiden shrugged. "We were in a hurry."

Any further rejoinder was drowned out by the clang of blast doors slamming down. The segment of corridor they were in was now effectively isolated, along with Science Lab 4, from the rest of Atlantis as well as the soldiers and paramedics.

"Lovely. Well, _that_ was predictable." Derek rolled his eyes. Shoving one of the two canisters towards Ford, he continued, "Let's see how my patients are doing." He moved determinedly towards the now-open lab.

Sheppard grabbed his shoulder and spun him around a second time. "What do you mean, _predictable_?"

The physician was not amused. "Major, you know the situation; the pieces of the Ancient bomb are producing a gas that caused Atlantis to quarantine the room. You open the door while the poison is still in the air…"

Sheppard closed his eyes, but managed to keep from slapping himself in the forehead. _'Of course. Just like with the nanites.'_

"If you don't mind…?" Lawrence looked pointedly at his shoulder. Chagrinned, Sheppard released it and followed the doctor into the room, carefully avoiding the shards of blast door that still protruded from the walls.

The soldiers paused briefly upon their first sight of the destruction. The lab looked as if an army of giants had played rugby for a fortnight. There were surreally twisted metal and wood sculptures scattered about where tables, desks, chairs and equipment used to be, like some new-age artist gone mad. In fact, Sheppard was reminded of this 'museum' in San Francisco…

Zelenka was slumped against the wall to the left of the entrance, breathing shallowly. Lawrence knelt beside him, quickly feeling for the carotid artery. The relief showed in his face as he found it. "Lieutenant Ford, your canister please."

Ford was at his side in an instant. Derek cranked up the O2 and pressed the oxygen mask firmly against the unconscious scientist's face. After a cursory examination revealed no life-threatening injuries, he stared Aiden straight in the eyes and commanded, "Hold this mask in place; when he wakes up enough to move, bring him over there." The surgeon jerked his head toward where Sheppard crouched next to Beckett and McKay, before rising and moving over himself.

"They're both alive," Sheppard informed him as he arrived.

"Thank God," Derek breathed. He put the mask on Rodney first then, after a minute of pure oxygen, alternated the mask to Beckett.

"How's it going down there?" Weir's voice suddenly cut in.

"All three men are alive, but we…have a problem."

TBC…

Author's Note: Heeheehee…couldn't resist tossing Sheppard into the pot…


	6. Meeting of Minds

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.

**Explosion**

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 6 - A Meeting of Minds

Sheppard eyed a fragment of the Ancient bomb nearby. "We still have innumerable gas-producing shards of the Ancient Bomb to deal with before Atlantis lets us out."

"You're trapped as well!" Weir was indignant.

"Yeah, well…" Sheppard looked distinctly uncomfortable. "The point is, we're on sort of a tight schedule here…"

"Because now you're getting poisoned as well." Weir rubbed the bridge of her nose tiredly between two fingers; some mornings it just didn't pay to get out of bed. "What about the plasma torch?"

Lawrence glanced grimly up from his evaluation of Beckett's arm. "If we blow another blast door, we'll just end up isolating another segment of hallway with us."

"And still be trapped." Weir was clearly frustrated. "We'll keep working on other options. Weir out."

Ford arrived with a partially conscious Zelenka, who he gently eased to the ground. Dr. Lawrence took the Czech's mask and attached it firmly to McKay's face, as he had been the most severely affected by the gas. Alternating the other between Beckett and Zelenka, he began a more thorough exam of his CMO.

Sheppard mused aloud, "We have to either get rid of all the active fragments…or isolate them in an airtight container of some sort…"

"I'll see what I can find." Ford stood and surveyed the room purposefully, then paused and glanced at the surgeon. "How long until the gas affects us?"

"It was about an hour between Zelenka's first call and his last, if that's any help." Sheppard had joined in the search.

"Then we probably have less time than that; the air in the lab is already saturated." Derek was matter-of-fact as he lifted the makeshift bandage on Beckett's forehead. The skin beneath it was severely ecchymotic and edematous, the swelling completely closing the eye on that side. The doctor let out a low whistle. "Boy, that's gonna hurt when he wakes up." He replaced the bandage and started looking at the arm.

Sheppard turned around suddenly as a thought struck him. "Wait a second…even if we isolate and contain all the bomb bits, those doors won't open because of all the gas still in the room."

Dr. Lawrence's eyebrows climbed. "You're right. We'll have to vent the gas somehow." His attention returned to Beckett, who had begun muttering as he began to wake. "Carson, it's Derek. You're going to be all right." He gently tapped Beckett's cheeks. "Come on, Carson. Time to wake up…"

"Aye, aye…'m up, Ma. 'm up…" Irritably the injured man shoved at the mask on his face.

Derek snorted and smiled as he replaced it. "Not quite, Dr. Beckett. Try again."

Carson's good eye flew open. "Derek?" he rasped.

"Right on two."

Glancing about his limited field of vision, Beckett's brows drew together. "Why aren't we in Medlab?"

Derek squirmed slightly. "That's complicated…"

"Then uncomplicate it…" McKay's irritated voice joined in the conversation as he, too, tried to pull off his oxygen mask.

"Rodney! Glad to see you back among the living." Sheppard and Ford both hurried over to their waking friends. Zelenka appeared almost normal, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them absently as he listened.

Sheppard continued, "It seems we're all stuck in a room filled with tranquilizer-gas producing bomb shards that Atlantis has quarantined from the rest of the base."

McKay shook his head as if to clear his vision. "So…we need to eliminate or isolate the fragments…"

"Then vent or filter all the gas out of the lab…" continued Zelenka.

"All before we succumb to the vapors ourselves and fall asleep again." Rodney concluded. Sitting upright, he slipped the mask off his face, turning carefully around to the canister and turning off the valve. "Better save some of this for later. We may _all_ need it." He still felt somewhat woozy, but believed it was from blood loss rather than the air at this point.

Zelenka blinked rapidly as he put back on his glasses; while not quite up to par, he felt _almost_ normal. "Are there any computer access panels still intact in this section?"

"We haven't found any yet," volunteered Ford. "Everything in here is pretty much destroyed."

McKay looked pointedly at Dr. Lawrence as he was quietly bending over Dr. Beckett, evaluating his mental status with a series of _sotto voce_ questions. "Give me your com-link," he demanded, snapping his fingers.

Derek glanced up, startled, but after a moment's reflection handed it over without comment. Rodney would have a lot more use for it in the next hour than he would, and lessons in manners could wait until he had them all ensconced in Medlab. But then…he indulged in a brief fantasy regarding procedures without anesthetics before sighing and returning to work. McKay was unlikely to ever be on his Christmas Card list.

McKay rapidly donned the com-link and hit the call switch. "Elizabeth, are you there?" he asked experimentally.

"Yes, Rodney, I hear you."

"Who do you have working on this?"

"Kavanagh, Johnson, Samuels…"

McKay interrupted her. "Have them concentrate on finding a way to vent the gas to outside Atlantis; there ought to be a way to force the room circulator into some type of air-exchange mode."

"Already on it, Rodney." She paused for a moment. "We're also trying to find a way to filter the air, if possible."

McKay shook his head and immediately regretted it, as the room swam alarmingly. "Don't waste your time. If the gas could have been filtered, Atlantis would have done so automatically." He reflected for a moment. "No, we need to vent it outside the base. And we need to find a way to dispose of the bomb pieces as well. Too bad this lab doesn't have a garbage chute." He glared over at Sheppard, as if daring him to comment.

"What? I didn't say anything." John was quick to plead innocence. "Well, while you geniuses think about it, Ford and I will begin collecting all the pieces we can identify and put them in one spot; that way we won't waste time once you come up with a solution." He turned to Aiden. "And Ford, if you find anything to contain them in, bring it back. We'll make a pile over there, against the far wall."

"Here, use these." Derek pulled a couple of pairs of disposable gloves from his BDU trouser pocket. "There's no telling what that stuff might do to unprotected skin. If it can produce an anesthetic gas…" He trailed off suggestively.

"Good thinking, doc. Thanks." So saying, Sheppard and Ford set to work.

TBC…


	7. A Great Idea: Not!

AN: To Kate K (and anyone else out there having trouble accessing the latest chapter of ANY ffnet story - It has to do with the way ffnet updates; the easiest thing to do is, on the 'address' line of the story, replace the last digit with the next chapter digit (eg: becomes then hit 'enter'. If the next chapter exists, it will come up that way, no matter what the 'arrows' or 'chapter list' says. Otherwise, it says 'chapter doesn't exist'.

Now, on with the story!

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.

**Explosion**

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 7 - A Great Idea...Not!

Thirty minutes later, they had accumulated a sizeable mound of metallic shards, but had been unable to come up with anything to isolate them in. Ford and Sheppard joined the remainder of the group in their discussion of the possibilities. Beckett was alert now, and, with his arm in a makeshift sling, was propped up against the nearby table remnants that McKay had fallen asleep on earlier. For his part, Rodney was avidly arguing with whoever was on the far end of the com-link, with Radek interjecting commentary from time to time.

"What do you mean, 'That won't work'? Have you even tried?"

An exasperated sigh came from the other end. "No, Dr. McKay, we've just been sitting up here folding paper airplanes; of _course_ we've tried!" Kavanagh was clearly frustrated, and Rodney wasn't helping matters. "Like I said before, Atlantis won't let us override the air vent system. Before exiting the complex, the ducts pass a number of other regions of the base, potentially exposing them to the fumes. The computer simply won't allow it."

Sheppard caught himself yawning, and shook his head to clear it. "Well, I hate to alarm anybody, but I'm getting pretty sleepy."

Ford visibly jerked himself awake as well. "Yeah, me too."

Derek appeared at their side with an O2 canister. Putting the mask first on the Major, he said, "Well, you've both been in close proximity to the Ancient device pieces; take some slow, deep breaths and you should feel better."

Sheppard did as instructed, pushing it towards Aiden after a few moments. "Yeah, I'm all right. Ford, your turn." Dr. Lawrence knew better, but didn't argue; the Major would use the oxygen again once he was assured that Ford had been treated adequately.

"Slow, deep breaths, Lieutenant." Aiden sucked in air as if he were afraid he'd never breathe again; the surgeon didn't want the young man hyperventilating. Checking the meter, he addressed Rodney, "Dr McKay, we need to do something soon; one tank is gone and the second is only half-full."

"I'm working on it." Rodney was irritable, and the scratchiness of the dressings on his back were driving him crazy. "There are no disposal chutes in this room, and the air vents exit the building after a fairly circuitous route which the control systems won't let us reroute."

"Frustrating, since _that_ wall," Zelenka pointed at the one against which the shards were piled, "is an exterior one. One would expect there to be vents directly to the outside."

McKay rolled his eyes, having heard all this before. "Yes, well, there aren't."

A familiar light dawned in Sheppard's eyes, part excitement, part madness; Rodney could never decide which. Warily he asked, "What?"

"There aren't any vents _yet_." Sheppard grinned lopsidedly and stood up. Pointing at the wall in question, he asked in confirmation, "That leads to the outside?"

McKay was guarded. "Yes…" His eyes narrowed, "Just what do you plan to do?"

"You'll see. Ford?" Sheppard held out his right hand, palm up.

"Yes, sir!" McKay often envied the lieutenant's ability to seemingly read Sheppard's thoughts. At this moment the young man reached into his right BDU trouser pocket, pulling out some whitish clay that he put into his commander's outstretched hand, then reached into the other pocket and produced a small clock.

Sheppard took both these items and then turned to Dr. Lawrence. "You'd better get everyone out into the hallway; it'll offer more protection." He and Ford then headed off, McKay trailing in their wake.

The surgeon didn't question, but stood up and addressed the Czech. "Dr. Zelenka, could you help me with Dr. Beckett?"

"Ah can get up m'self." Carson objected.

"Yes, but it's easier and safer if you let us help." Zelenka commented.

Carson sighed in the manner of the long-suffering, then nodded. "All right, then. Do your worst."

Lawrence and Radek exchanged bemused glances, then gently helped the Scot to his feet.

As the group separated, Weir's voice came over the com-link. "John, what are you planning?"

"Well, as there is an exterior wall in this room…and as we need access to the outside, both for venting the gas and for disposing of the fragments of the Ancient device…I just thought that we could make our own 'access port'." He grinned at Ford, who returned it wholeheartedly.

"Make an access port? With what? Your charming personality?" McKay hated being left out of the loop.

"It's worth a try," came Elizabeth's reply.

'_Oh, this is too much,'_ thought Rodney. _'Even Elizabeth knows what's going on, and she isn't in the room!'_

As they reached the wall, John studied it for a minute, then spoke into his mike. "Dr. Kavanagh, where is the thinnest part of this structure?"

There was a pause on the other end as the requested blueprints were pulled up on a computer. "About two feet from the South corner, three feet above the floor," came the reply.

Cocking his head, Sheppard addressed Aiden. "You heard the man, Lieutenant. But this time, give me a _real_ three minutes."

Ford smiled in return. "Yes, sir." He then set about finding defects into which he could wedge the explosive at the right level.

Comprehension dawned. "That's C-4!" Rodney realized. "You're…going to try to blow a hole in the wall?" He shook his head in disbelief. "It won't work; these walls are…"

"Never hurts to try." Sheppard interrupted. Aiden nodded just then, and John shouted, "Fire in the hole; move it, McKay!"

"But…but…" The astrophysicist never got a chance to complete his objection as Ford grabbed him by one arm, Sheppard by the other, and hustled him towards the relative protection of the corridor. Unfortunately in their rush they forgot McKay's earlier injuries, which suddenly declared themselves with a vengeance. Rodney hissed as he felt the lacerations reopen, burning almost as badly as their initial occurrence. A small rivulet of blood seeped from beneath Lawrence's makeshift bandage and ran down his back. As the three ran through the doorway and joined the others, Rodney managed to shake himself free.

Eyes blazing, he glared at the Major. "Listen to me." McKay's voice projected barely controlled fury. "It…won't…work!"

By now Sheppard was a little perturbed. No matter what he tried to do, the scientist always tried to tell him why it couldn't be done. Of course, that never stopped him from going ahead and doing it anyway. "Why not?" he demanded.

McKay answered the question with a question. "Why do you think we set up a lab in a room with no windows and no disposal chutes?"

Sheppard refrained from the obvious _'Stupidity?'_ on the grounds that McKay's reaction might be deemed 'justifiable homicide', and instead went with, "I don't know; why?"

"Because of the…" his reply was interrupted by the roar of the C-4 going off. "Structural reinforcement in the walls, in case of explosions." He looked heavenward and sagged against the wall. "Why do I bother? No one ever listens…" He sank to the ground and rested his head tiredly on his knees as Sheppard and Ford rushed back into the room. Derek, spotting the bloodstains on his shirt, was at his side in an instant, demanding a re-examination. McKay finally relented when Carson threatened to come over and do it himself.

Back in the lab, the two soldiers stared aghast at the lack of significant damage done to the structure before them. The decorative casing had peeled away for an irregular four-foot radius, exposing the solid sheet metal behind. Sheppard walked over in a daze and touched the edges in disbelief. "Son of a…" he began.

"How's it going down there?" interrupted Weir's voice.

"Not so good." Sheppard replied. "We are apparently in a metal _vault_ of some sort." He yawned widely, despite a desperate attempt at stifling it. "And the gas is getting stronger."

Aiden, who had stopped near the door, instinctively glanced at the bomb remnants responsible for the aforementioned fumes, only to become alarmed when he noticed that they were…_vibrating_.

"Hey, is that normal?" Ford drew his commander's attention to the pile of metallic debris they had so painstakingly gathered together.

Sheppard stared at the shuddering mound of rubble, taking a step towards it curiously. "Strange…" Just then the pile began to emit a high-pitched whine. _'That can't be good.'_ Eyes widening, he sprinted towards the door shouting "Get back, get back!" to the Lieutenant.

Aiden was several yards closer to the corridor, and needed no further urging. He ran. He had just made it through the doorway when the heap of bomb shards violently turned itself into its component molecules, slamming him into the far wall. As he slid into unconsciousness, his last thought was of the Major, still in the room behind him.

TBC…

AN: Sorry about the delay; my sister's cat got SHOT! Been dealing with that…


	8. Scottish Ingenuity

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.

**Explosion **

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 8 - Scottish Ingenuity

Dr. Lawrence, just redressing McKay's back for the third time, instinctively flinched as Science Lab 4 exploded into the corridor. Ford came hurtling past then was slammed into the opposite wall by the force of the blast, where he crumpled bonelessly into a heap on the deck. Jumping up, Derek ran to assess this newest casualty as McKay and Zelenka chorused "Lieutenant!" like some bad musical. Careful not to jar his C-spine, the surgeon carefully felt for a carotid pulse, which to his relief he rapidly found. It beat strong and steady beneath his fingertips.

"Zelenka, could you help me over here?" he called back over his shoulder. Without looking, he hastily added, "Carson, _you_ stay put! I can only deal with one patient at a time."

He thought that he heard a mumbled, "Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do", but his attention was concentrated on the unconscious man before him.

"How may I help?" Zelenka asked breathlessly, kneeling beside him.

"I'd like you to sit here and, if he starts to wake up, make sure he stays _completely _still. With that blow to the head, he could have a neck injury, and I don't want him accidentally pithing himself." He turned a worried eye to the lab, where the dust was beginning to settle. "I need to check on Major Sheppard." Truly, he didn't have much hope that the man had survived a blast of that magnitude, but he had to see for himself.

Zelenka's hand on his arm startled the doctor. "Are you certain that it's safe?"

Derek shook his head. "No, but I _do_ know that I have another patient in there that I need to evaluate."

Zelenka nodded as the surgeon stood and moved through the door.

If the room had been a shambles before, it was obliterated now. There was nothing at all recognizable left standing; rubble was everywhere. Waving the dust away from his watering eyes, Dr. Lawrence squinted into the murk. Finally he spotted the Major lying prone on the floor, half-obscured by debris and bits of ceiling that had crashed down in the explosion. His left arm lay stretched out in front of him while his right seemed pinned under his body. He was definitely not moving.

Derek carefully picked his way over to the immobile form, then knelt and repeated the pulse check he had performed on Ford. His eyes widened as he realized that the soldier was, against all odds, still alive. Quickly straightening, he began removing the debris that covered the inert body, tossing it aside until he could see the Major's chest rise and fall. He muttered his findings aloud as he performed a cursory evaluation.

"Hmmm…Pulse rapid and thready…a scalp laceration that'll make Beckett jealous, with an associated contusion…but no palpable step-off that might indicate a skull fracture…decreased breath sounds on the right…with crepitance…probably a pneumothorax…Aha!…at least three fractured ribs as a probable cause…" His gaze flew back to the Major's neck, "Damn! Definite jugular venous distension." He shook his head resignedly. "Tension pneumothorax, then. I'm gonna have to turn him."

He stood and quickly returned to the corridor where Zelenka was calming a waking Ford. His lips thinned as he spotted Beckett, sling and all, sitting on the soldier's opposite side. "What are you doing?" he demanded irately of his battered superior.

"Mah job," came the droll reply, as the one eye that wasn't swollen shut stared back at him unblinkingly. "Ah can deal with a concussion as well as the next man, even one-handed, and can even manage to clinically clear a C-spine when I have to." His tone flipped from sarcastic to concerned as he glanced towards the lab. "What about the Major?"

Derek remained grim, but decided that, although clearly wounded, Beckett was right about being able to manage Ford. He replied seriously, "Alive, but pretty badly injured. I think he's got a tension pneumothorax, but I need help to turn him so I can tell for sure."

"I will be happy to assist." Zelenka jumped to his feet.

"Ditto," grunted McKay, rising more slowly. His back was really beginning to stiffen up, but he figured that he was better off than Sheppard at the present moment. He was in pain, but would live.

Derek nodded. "All right, I'll take all the help I can get. Come on." He headed back into the blast zone.

Within a few minutes he had the two scientists positioned, he himself managing the soldier's head and neck. "Everybody ready? On the count of three. One…two…three!" The men turned Sheppard as one unit, as if they had worked in ERs all their lives. Derek quickly listened to his heart, "Yep, definite mediastinal shift. Anybody got a pocketknife?"

"The Major has one," volunteered McKay as he reached for the black case at Sheppard's belt. Within a minute he had produced a Leatherman tool and handed it to the surgeon.

Dr. Lawrence, meanwhile, had found a ball-point pen in his own pocket and taken it apart, discarding all but the hollow tube. Unfolding the knife, he ripped open the right side of Sheppard's shirt to expose his chest wall. Despite the urgency of the victim's increasingly rapid and shallow breaths, he took the time to scrupulously count down six ribs in the anterior axillary line and carefully position the blade at an angle just above the seventh. "Stand back, this could get messy," he instructed the others. He then inserted the blade into the chest cavity parallel to the rib until he heard the expected _hisssss_, at which point he twisted the knife perpendicularly to enlarge and hold open the wound. A rush of air with blood mixed in came erupting out, as if under pressure, spraying the debris on which Sheppard lay as well as the pants of his treating physician. Derek ignored the mess as well as the horrified looks of the two observers, and slipped the hollow pen tubing into the defect he had so skillfully created. Sitting back on his heels, he sighed as he watched the patient's breathing become easier.

"Well, at least now it's just a _normal_ pneumothorax," commented a thick brogue over his left shoulder. He had been so involved in relieving the tension component that he hadn't noticed Carson and Aiden limping up to the group. "Do ye still have some of those latex gloves you handed out earlier? A finger might be just the ticket."

Derek was momentarily confused, but then the light flicked on. "Of course!" Pulling one out of his pocket, he used the knife to cut off the middle finger, then to make a slit in its fingertip. Partially unlacing his own boot, he came up with enough length to tie the latex tube to the pen shell in Sheppard's chest. Within moments the glove bit was making flatulent noises with each inhalation, and collapsing completely as John breathed out. Derek whipped his stethoscope from around his neck and listened, first to the left chest, then the right, then back again. A broad smile lit his face as he beamed up at Carson, "Perfect! His lung's inflating nicely. Nothing like an impromptu Heimlich valve."

"That's why I'm the Chief Medical Officer; good, old-fashioned Scottish ingenuity." Beckett looked inordinately proud of himself, only to suddenly sway on his feet.

"Oh, sit down before you fall down," groused McKay irritably. His back was beginning to throb, and he felt achy and feverish. "The gas is getting to you again."

"Oh, I doubt that…" commented Zelenka distractedly. He was standing now, staring at the far wall.

McKay rolled his eyes and sarcastically asked, "And on what do you base that conclusion?"

"On the fact that we're now breathing fresh air," Ford spoke up for the first time. He, too, was staring at the far wall.

Where the pile of fragments had lain before finally completely self-immolating, there was now a four-foot-wide hole in the metal wall panel. Late afternoon sunlight streamed into the defect, filling their eyes and hearts with hope.

TBC…

AN: The cat is much better today…still too early to know for sure, but he's eating and playing a little.


	9. Cleanup

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.

**Explosion **

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 9 - Cleanup

Once the fresh air had started circulating through the hole created by the second explosion of the Ancient device, Atlantis released its grip on the injured party. The blast doors _whooshed_ into the ceiling, allowing the rescue teams to rush in with stretchers, IV's, and supplemental oxygen.

Dr. Lawrence was in his element triaging the trauma evacuation. "Take Major Sheppard first, but use a backboard and be careful not to dislodge that makeshift chest tube," he instructed the orderlies. "When you get to Medlab, have Cindi set up for a _real_ thoracostomy tube placement, would you?"

To the men wheeling out Doctor Beckett, he instructed, "No matter what he says, get him in a bed and _keep him there._ Then have Dr. Abrams take a look at him while I take care of Major Sheppard." He then left to go see to the fighter pilot, leaving the other injuries to his capable staff.

By this time, however, chief nurse Shelley Galas had just about had enough of one Rodney McKay. While Ford and Zelenka had gratefully allowed themselves to be whisked away, Rodney seemed strangely recalcitrant. "I'll ask you one last time to get on the stretcher, Dr. McKay." She suppressed a sigh and pointed at the waiting gurney.

"No, _earlier_ you asked me to _lie down_ on the stretcher, and I told you that I would prefer to walk." Rodney shot her a glare that brooked no argument. Unfortunately for the astrophysicist, the effect was seriously diminished by his legs suddenly deciding to turn into jelly, causing him to plop rather abruptly onto the stretcher's edge.

Shelley smiled tiredly as the orderlies quickly took advantage of the scientist's momentary weakness and swung McKay's legs up onto the cart. With a jaunty wave from the man at the head, the two wheeled him out, still sitting upright with arms crossed. Shelley chuckled at this act of defiance and followed, tucking a stray wisp of blonde hair behind her ear and shaking her head.

Two hours later found the chaos under some semblance of control. Sheppard had been cat scanned head-to-toe once his pneumothorax had been more traditionally treated, and was confirmed to have a cerebral contusion rather than a subdural or epidural hematoma. Bruising of the brain, while serious, was significantly less concerning than blood clots or active bleeding. The swelling was minimal, so Derek held off on the steroids and diuretics. Otherwise, the pilot had four broken ribs, the pneumothorax, assorted bumps and bruises, and a cracked sternum that, while painful, required no other therapy. All-in-all, pretty darned lucky.

Zelenka was examined and released, having escaped with essentially no injuries, while Ford was being watched overnight for a concussion. Beckett was going to be staying in his own infirmary for a longer period of time, as he also had a cerebral contusion and needed close observation. His arm would need to wait for the swelling to recede before they could exchange the splint for a cast, but his forehead laceration was expertly cleaned and closed. His other cuts and scrapes were also cleaned and dressed, but would heal on their own. Weir had been and gone at least three times, checking on everyone's progress.

That just left McKay. For unknown reasons, the man simply didn't seem to want to be treated. Derek sighed; it was turning out to be a _very_ long day.

"I don't know about you, but I have things to do," Rodney tried to bluster his way past Dr. Lawrence.

"Then the sooner you let me examine you, the sooner you can get back to it. Take your shirt off."

"Look, can't this wait?" Rodney made no attempt to remove his shirt.

"Sure, if you want some horrible infection to set in. I didn't like the way your back was looking the last time I saw it, and that was hours ago. Now sit down."

"You heard the man, Rodney." Both men swung around at the unexpected input.

Derek lifted a relieved eyebrow as McKay plopped back down onto the edge of the exam table. "Thank you, Dr. Weir." He began to carefully lift the back of the shirt when Rodney hissed. The physician's eyes narrowed speculatively.

"That tender, huh? Is that why you've been fighting us?"

Rodney scowled defensively, "Well, you were hardly very gentle back in the corridor; you can't blame a guy for wanting to avoid pain."

Derek was flabbergasted. "Doctor McKay, in the blast zone I had only a few clean rags and water to work with; here, I assure you, I can be much more humane. We can even knock you out if you'd like."

McKay looked visibly relieved, and after a moment nodded.

A thought occurred to Lawrence and he referenced the scientist's vital sign flowsheet. "Doctor, were you aware that you've begun to run quite a respectable fever?"

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, well I do feel a little warm."

Derek smiled reassuringly. "I tell you what; let Shelly start an IV, then we'll give you some pain medicine and a mild sedative before I take down that dressing and clean up your back properly, all right?"

Rodney still looked nervous, but gulped and nodded again. Weir stuck around for a few minutes, both to reassure her friend and to make certain that he obeyed the surgeon.

"Now, Doctor McKay, I want you to lie down on your stomach so that I can get at your back once you're asleep."

Rodney tentatively did so, turning his head so that he faced away from the treatment tray. He hated hospitals with a passion. The last thing he heard was Derek asking for something called 'Versed' and Elizabeth leaning over and murmuring to him that everything would be all right.

Once Rodney was asleep, Lawrence let loose the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and smiled at Dr. Weir. "Thank you, ma'am. I think we can take care of him from here."

"Would you mind if I stayed and watched?" she inquired politely, strangely reluctant to leave.

"Not at all. Why don't you pull up a chair and hold his hand while he's asleep? I think his subconscious can use all the reassurance it can get."

One corner of Weir's lips quirked up as she followed instructions. Once she was settled, Derek cut away the back of Rodney's shirt and began peeling up the temporary dressing he had applied down in the corridor. Rodney moaned slightly in his sleep as the cloth came away, and Elizabeth squeezed his hand reflexively. She glanced up in alarm as Derek let out a low whistle.

"What is it, doctor?" Weir asked, concerned.

Derek shook his head as he reached for the lidocaine. "I was afraid of this. He's already got cellulitis and I'm going to have to debride the necrotic tissue."

"In English, please."

Derek quickly translated, "A serious infection has already set in and is spreading, which is why it hurts so badly. I need to cut away the dead and infected parts of his skin and clean out the wounds."

"Thank you, doctor."

As Weir continued holding Rodney's hand, Dr. Lawrence got to work. Rodney had over a dozen cuts from flying debris, all of which were red, swollen, and oozing either a clear fluid or, more commonly, a thicker greenish-yellow material. The skin leading up to each of these jagged lacerations was also erythematous and warm to the touch, indicating a spread of bacteria under the skin. Several of the more ragged edges were either gray or back where the tissue was no longer viable and needed to be cut away. While doing this, the surgeon kept finding bits of cloth or dirt in the wounds that needed to be removed as well. It took over thirty minutes and several more doses of Fentanyl and Versed, but McKay's back was finally cleaned to Lawrence's satisfaction. "There, that should do it," he murmured as he taped down the last bandage. "I think we'll probably have to dose him with morphine before his dressing changes for the next couple of days, though. And I'm afraid he's stuck here on IV antibiotics at any rate."

"Thank you for letting me stay and watch." Weir rose and turned towards the door.

"Thank you for being here. Dr. McKay will be waking up within the hour; could you have someone send down his laptop? Otherwise I foresee a revolt."

"I'll be happy to. Still, if you need me to intervene…"

Derek grinned. "I'll save that for a last resort. I don't want to overuse my trump card, do I? Thanks again, ma'am."

Weir gave him her patented 'everything will be fine' expression and replied, "No problem" as she left.

Derek looked around at his four charges. Oh, the next several days were _not_ going to be fun at all…

Maybe he should go find Shelley.

TBC…

AN: Heeding the advice of several critiques, I've tried to build in translations of more esoteric medical terminology. Once I've finished the story, I'll go back and fix chapter 8. I'd do it now, but I'm afraid I'll get lynched if I take time out from writing! LOL ;-)


	10. No Place Like Home

AN: NebbyJ asked if Derek could be borrowed for future fics; as far as I'm concerned, sure! But be warned…both he and Shelley Galas are based on real people Bastet and I know, so play nice with them…

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, don't sue.   
Explosion 

By Kerr Avon

Chapter 10 - There's No Place Like Home

John had always liked visiting his grandfather's farm in the summer; it always seemed like _home_. Once the chores were done and the breakfast dishes cleared, he had the rest of the day stretched before him like an empty canvass ready to paint with adventure. Some days he'd pretend to be a pirate, while on others he'd make believe he was Captain Kirk (not that he'd ever admit that to his friends back home). Still others, like today, he'd just lay by the stream and let his mind wander wherever it wanted. His eyes closed, he listened to the burbling of the water, imagining that he could actually hear voices…

"_Ah told ye before, Rodney, that I'll let you know the minute he shows signs of wakin'."_

"_Yes, well, it's just that it's been three days!"_

"_But only thirty minutes since you last checked on him."_

"_THERE! His eyelid twitched!"_

"_Please lower your voice; ah have a concussion too, ye know."_

Wait a minute; that didn't sound right. Streams weren't called 'Rodney'. He didn't even _know_ a 'Rodney'!…Or did he?…Something niggled at the back of his mind, but the more he tried to catch it, the more elusive it became. John decided to go back to sleep and let it come to him.

The last three days had been just as unpleasant as Derek had feared; Sheppard wouldn't wake up, Rodney kept demanding to leave, and Beckett wanted to take over the care of everybody, including himself. The one bright point had been releasing Ford after an uneventful overnight observation, with strict instructions to take it easy for the next three days; instructions that he felt relatively confident that the young man would follow.

McKay's back had cleaned up nicely, albeit painfully, and within 24 hours he was discharged on oral antibiotics and pain meds. Surprisingly, now that he could officially go, McKay kept hovering around like a lost spirit, inquiring several times an hour as to both Beckett and Sheppard's condition. Derek ultimately had to restrict the man to one visit per shift, or the nurses would kill him.

After 48 hours of back-seat doctoring by Dr. Beckett, Dr. Lawrence was torn between throttling the man or sedating him into next week. It was with a great deal of reticence that he chose a third option, and allowed Carson to oversee Sheppard's care on the third day. However, he drew the line at Beckett treating himself, and made it clear that if his own condition began to worsen, he would be returned to bedrest and Derek would reassume Sheppard's care. Surreptitiously Dr. Lawrence made certain that the nurses called him for most of the daily minutiae, particularly when Beckett was dozing, but asked Carson to make most of the large decisions. That way, Beckett could 'manage' his patient without exhausting himself.

At least, that was the theory. However, Rodney seemed to think that Carson would be more amenable to his innumerable visits and questions than Dr. Lawrence had been, and was showing up with increasing frequency. Watching McKay berate his clearly exhausted and headache-ridden superior from across the ward, Derek decided that the time had come to intervene. Snatching the largest needle and syringe he could find, he drew up 10 cc of café-au-lait from a nearby mug and displayed the instrument prominently as he sauntered over to join the conversation.

"Rodney, Ah promise that ye'll be the first Ah call when he starts to wake. Now, please…"

"Doctor McKay! Just the man I wanted to see," Derek interrupted. He noted Carson's fleeting expression of relief and steeled his resolve as Rodney turned around to face him. Holding the syringe upright, he made a show of squirting a small fountain of the murky brown liquid out the top of the fourteen gauge needle, just like they did in all those Hollywood movies. "With all your cuts, it suddenly occurred to me that, despite the vaccinations we received before we deployed, a tetanus booster might not be amiss…" He trailed off suggestively as McKay paled and broke into a sweat.

"Umm, yeah, sure, umm, butrightnowIhavetogo." The last part of the sentence was spoken so quickly that it emerged as a single word, slurred as the scientist sprinted out the door. The two doctors stared after the retreating form for a moment, then collapsed into hysterics. Beckett was laughing so hard that Derek had to ease him into a nearby chair before he lost bladder control.

When they had finally calmed enough to be somewhat coherent, Carson wiped his watering eyes. "Whatever do ye have in that syringe, mon?" he snickered. "We won't be seein' Rodney for days."

"Coffee," replied Derek smugly.

Beckett shook his head in wonderment. "Then ye'd best not be tellin' him, or he might just take ye up on it next time."

"Oh, I doubt it." Dr. Lawrence smiled and placed the syringe on a nearby countertop in easy view. "I'll just leave this here for the next time Dr. McKay is driving you crazy."

"Thank ye, but I suspect he won't be back until I call him."

Derek nodded. "Good. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, you've done plenty. Thank you." Beckett smiled gratefully and turned to examine his patient.

John hurt. There was something poking his right side so hard that it felt like he was being stabbed with each breath. _'No way can I nap with this stick in my side. Maybe I should roll over.'_ Yet he couldn't seem to manage it. Allowing himself a little more awareness, he realized that he didn't seem to be laying on the accumulated pine needles beneath that old fir at Grandpa's place; in fact, the reports coming in from most of his body indicated that, except for the stick, he was lying in a _bed_. The smell was all wrong as well. It was filtered…medicinal. The air didn't smell of sun-washed summer days at all. And that sound…he concentrated. _'Nope. Definitely NOT the trout stream…more like…snoring?'_ His eyes flew open, and he stared at the ceiling in momentary confusion.

The lights were all off, making it difficult to see…he rolled his eyes carefully around as he tried to take in his surroundings in the dimness. IV pole…monitors…low-pitched beeping…a hospital…definitely a hospital. Slowly turning towards the noise, he made out a familiar Scotsman in rumpled scrubs sprawled in a nearby chair fast asleep.

"Carson?" he murmured to himself, trying to remember. In a rush it all came back to him; the Ancient device, the attempted rescue, the C-4, the second explosion… "Atlantis!" Of course. He was home.

"Well, nice to see you've decided to join us," commented a pleasant voice beside his other ear. He turned to see the fair-skinned blonde nurse with the gentle Southern accent checking his IV fluid. "How are you feeling?"

"Like there's a spear in my side." He attempted to maneuver so that he could see the offending object, but couldn't quite manage.

"That's either the broken ribs or the chest tube. Would you like a shot for the pain?"

"In a minute. What happened? Clearly we were rescued."

Shelley smiled. "I'd say so. I'll let Dr. Beckett fill you in on the details."

"Oh, no. Don't wake him. He probably needs his sleep."

"Trust me, he'll sleep better once I tell him you're awake." She paused thoughtfully. "Maybe I can even convince him to sleep in a bed…"

As the nurse had predicted, Beckett was overjoyed with Sheppard's return to consciousness. After a few questions to establish mental status and orientation, Carson was delighted to provide him with a summary of events subsequent to his head injury. While it took only a few minutes, both men were yawning by the end of the story, and nurse Galas even managed to tuck Carson into a nearby hospital bed for the remainder of the night.

The next morning saw a flurry of activity. McKay was the first well-wisher to arrive, followed closely by Dr. Weir. John found it interesting that Rodney's tirade on not having been summoned the night before was cut short by Carson's pointed visual examination of something sitting on a nearby counter which was just out of his own line of sight. He made a mental note to check it out later; it could be something useful.

It was a few days before his lung had healed enough to remove the chest tube; another several before he was released to return to his quarters. Slowly sinking onto his own bunk he sighed, remembering sunlight and fishing streams. Still, it was the people that made the place, and Atlantis was full of people that cared about him. Rolling onto his back, he began humming a favorite childhood tune, then chuckled as his mind rewrote the words. In an amused tenor, he sang the chorus aloud: "No matter the galaxy, there's no place like home."

Yep. Home.

FINIS

AN: Well, another fic finished. Hope you liked it! Thanks for all the moral support and the great feedback; hope to write another soon…In the meantime, if you haven't read my other stories, give them a try - you might like what you see!

Anybody else headed to Mediawest this May? If so, I'll see you there! (Oh, and the cat may have used up 6 of its 9 lives, but he's fine!)


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